Happy Birthday, Daddy!
by Bitter Sun
Summary: GSR After Grissom's knocked into a coma,the doctor reveals to the team that he won't be able to remember something when he wakes up.In his subconscious,Grissom sees a mysterious brunette woman and discovers that, whoever she is, she's the key to surviving
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes.

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note:** I really hope you enjoy this fan fiction. There will be plenty more to come. Make sure to review to let me know how I'm doing and if I should continue! Also, this story I began writing on March 17th, so the time stamps are based off the day I wrote it. The way the plot flows, there will chapters in which I will time-stamp it to keep you readers in the loop.

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**March 17th, 2007**

Dr. Gilbert Grissom was never a religious man. Sure, his mother had brought him up as Catholic, but his fascination of the facts of life dulled the finer points of religion in his mind. But he was a man of faith. Everything just wasn't science and math as he often tried to envision it. But he now lay in a hospital bed, well his body lay in a hospital bed. His mind wandered elsewhere, trapped in it with a coma. His body is wrapped in bandages, tubes giving him his breath and life, and it most certainly did not appear to his wife the same man she loved and adored. Sara Sidle-Grissom could not do anything but sit at his side and wait. Wait for his death, wait for his awakening, wait for whatever is destined to swoop down on them. Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown had gone back to the lab after a dozen pestering calls from Ecklie, and Detective Jim Brass was pulled from the bedside by an annoying Sheriff Burdick. Could these people not feel the team's pain? Could they care even less than they already do?

Greg Sanders sat in the corner, desperately trying not to start crying again, and Nick Stokes stood at the window, staring absently out over the city of Las Vegas. Doc Robbins stood in his autopsy room, void of bodies on tables, trying to piece it all together. They all were blaming themselves for not being able to act sooner, and each one knew each other's pain. Catherine and Warrick had been at a scene, Doc had been in the middle of an autopsy, Sara had been waiting for him at his townhouse for dinner, Nick had been watching in the viewing room, Brass had turned his back for a second, Greg had made a mistake, and the suspect was nowhere near sane. Martin Long, a suspect of five murders, had covered his forensic tracks well, but was caught, and now Grissom was hanging in the balance of life and death.


	2. Chapter 2: The News

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes.

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note:** Second installment, be sure to review! I'd really appreciate it along with any ideas you may have for where the fic should go. Enjoy!

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**The Interrogation Room - 5 Hours Earlier**

"So, Mr. Long, you like killing women?" Brass sneered, draging out his question as he stood in one corner. Grissom sat in front of the man, and Greg stood in the corner behind the suspect.

"No, I've done no such thing."

"Liar. We know you did it."

"We have your blood mixed with each victim's, Mr. Long." Grissom took control of the wording and shifted in his chair, wishing the interrogation would end soon; Sara was already waiting. "We also have proven your alibies to be false. We found the vise used to make your unique weapon in your garage, and the blood on the one set of clothing was a mix of your's and the five victims. We know you killed them, Mr. Long." At each piece of evidence, Martin Long's face darkened, teeth clenching in rage.

"You're going to jail for life...if you're lucky." It was Greg's first time in an interrogation, and this was his first mistake. Lunging back at Greg, the suspect kicked him in the gut, sending him down. Brass pulled the guy off Greg, but his punches were flying, and beat him over the head a few times, sending Brass confused onto his knees. Nick was already out the door of the viewing room calling for cops, but it was too late for Grissom. Taking the gun from Grissom's hands, he began brutally beating the Graveyard Shift Supervisor, blood beginning to spatter against the wall. As Nick went in with three cops behind him, three shots rang out in the air, and Grissom ceased moving in a pool of his own blood.

**Desert Palms Hospital - Present**

"Mrs. Grissom?" Sara looked up from her reverie, a doctor in scrubs and a white coat at the cracked door. She nodded and he motioned for her to come outside the room. Checking to make sure the door was closed all the way, the older man began to speak. "I'm Dr. James Merridew, I was the chief surgeon for your husband's surgery and will be his doctor during his time here with us. Mrs. Grissom, your husband has suffered extreme trauma to the brain and immense internal bleeding occured in surgery, but we were able to stop it. The bullets entered, luckily, two in his right shoulder and chest. We were able to retrieve all three of them without major damage to the body. The part that took the longest was his brain. He's in a coma. There were pieces of fractured skull everywhere and a few brain cells died. It was in the area that holds memories. It could be anything from not remembering who he is to cases from a few years ago. We're hoping it's not too serious, but we won't know for sure until he wakes up. The trauma was...hard to believe it was only on the account of flying fists. I'm sure you can tell. I'm deeply sorry for you to see your husband like this, but he's much better than when he arrived. If we have any new information, we'll let you know."

She furrowed her eyebrows, breath quickening. Coma? Memory loss? Trauma? Internal bleeding? "Wait, you'll let me know? Are you implying that I should be leaving?" The doctor sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"We don't think he'll wake up for a while. I'm sorry to say but, your husband has a low percentage of even waking up at all. As of 8:00 p.m. tomorrow evening, we will begin enforcing the hospital visiting rules. Please take it easy, Mrs. Grissom, for the baby's sake." Her eyes widened, not at the percentage. She was horrified of the percentage, but was surprised at the mention of a baby, _her_ baby.

"Ho-how do you know?"

"Four months? You're starting to show. We'll do our best for your husband." And at that Dr. Merridew walked off, leaving Sara on the brink of tears. Silently walking back into the room, she took one look at Grissom and began to cry, sobbing as she just slid down the back of the door. In an instant, Nick was kneeling next to her, hugging her in an attempt to comfort.

"He - he might not even wake up! Nick, he might not even wake up!" She sobbed, crying into his shoulder as Greg sat in the corner still, head in his hands, silently crying.

"It's all my fault," he whispered to himself. "All my fault."


	3. Chapter 3: In the Mind of the Victim

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes. 

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note: **I realize this next chapter's kind of confusing, but I think you'll really like the set-up and the way the plot rolls.

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**Gil Grissom's subconscious**

The fragrance of the flowers was pleasant, and the soft caress of the wind on his cheek soothed him. But as he lay in this valley, he couldn't help but feel torn. His body and mind ached yet he was visibly well. There were no noisy cities preoccupations, yet his ears buzzed, straining to hear anything. The silence was deafening, the beauty unbearable. Something was wrong, something was not right. Grissom rose from his laying position on the ground and sighed, standing as quick as a teen might. He couldn't understand how he was acting so, behaving in such a serene manner. He began to walk, anywhere, everywhere, somewhere. Where was Warrick? Nick? Catherine? Brass? Greg? Hodges? Even Ecklie? It struck him that he was alone, and he stopped walking.

He had left the flowers and was now on a beach, with a boardwalk, but undeveloped, just a forest behind it. It was warm, and the sand seemed nice enough. Shedding his shoes and socks along with his jacket, he embarked on another walk down the beach. There was a woman, just flashing in and out of focus. She was familar, like the team, but felt more...intimate. He shook his head, scolding himself for his childish thoughts. _'There is no woman,'_ he thought. _'Just the images of my past forming a new image, like a dream.'_

"Gil? Gil, hon, is that you?" He stopped and furrowed his brow, an old habit he recalled. Turning his body, he faced the master of the voice.

"Mom?" His voice was soft, and his head lowered slightly as if trying to get a closer look without moving. It was his mother. But how? Of all people to run into, this was the last one he imagined. His mother died a year ago, in her sleep peacefully. The woman shook her head up and down, and he felt his feet dragging through the sand toward her. He raised his hands, beginning to sign while whispering the translations to himself. "Is it-? Is it really-?" They were in front of each other now, only a foot away. She once again shook her head yes, and he found himself being hugged by his deaceased mother, and he was hugging back. Pulling away, he gazed quizically at her. His hands flew in a fury, confused. "But how? How are you here? You passed away in your sleep a year ago." His voice saddened and his face sagged slowly as she painfully nodded back.

"Yes, I know. I was alarmed when I learned of your condition, Gil. I came immediately."

"How can you hear? I can't believe this, any of this," he whispered, flustered.

"I know, sweetie."

"Came? How can you have come or gone anywhere? Mom, you're dead."

"Ah, the same way I can hear you now; death brings the ultimate healing." Her face was contorted with sorrow and worry, no longer displaying the meek smile from moments earlier. She raised her hands up to him and gently laid them on either side of his face, his hands unknowingly settling over her's. "That's why you're here."


	4. Chapter 4: Mother to Her Son

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes. 

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note: **Enjoy, once again!

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"I'm dead?" He let go of his mother's hands, looking at her strangely. "I'm not dead, am I?" She shook her head.

"No, you're not. But you've been in a coma for five months."

"Five months? I've been laying in a hospital for five months? Well then, what is this?" He raised his hands in the air, motioning to the scenery, his mother, himself. "My subconscious?" There was no answer. "I don't believe in purgatory."

"Science doesn't explain everything, Gil."

"I know, and I wasn't implying that. I - I know." He sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "Well, I guess you know how it happened, don't you?" She nodded and sat down in the sand, patting the ground next to her. Sitting slowly, Grissom stared out over the water. It was fogged, the sky partly covered in dark grey clouds.

"You know, Gil, you used to love the beach."

"Still do," he whispered. She smiled.

"Me too. You would walk up and down the beach as a little boy and you - you'd pick up dead jellyfish and use a steak knife you stole from the kitchen to cut it open and make it into an autopsy. Or you'd dig up sand crabs and leave them in sand buckets with different environments and watch them all afternoon." She was laughing softly, but stopped when her son turned to her.

"How did it happen?" She began to wring her hands tightly. "Mom, how did it happen?" He glanced downwards at her. "You're wringing your hands again." He sighed and pulled her hands toward him. "Just tell me, Mom. It's all right. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Her lips trembled and she kept her head bowed down. "I - I always warned you that getting involved with the police was a bad idea. I told you to just lecture and research. I told you, Gil."

"Mom, don't give me another guilt lecture. We went over this before. I needed to help people, not study bugs all my life. I wouldn't mind it, but I needed to help people." Her head turned up and stared grieving into his eyes.

"But why, Gil? Why couldn't you just help yourself?"

"Because, Mom! It's my life! It's who I am! I didn't want anybody else to wonder why their loved one died after they were refused time after time, told that they wouldn't understand!" He rarely lost his temper, and this topic with his mother was usually the one time he lost it. When she brought up his father. How could she not understand? Everyone has their passion, their calling, and this was his. What was her fear of the police anyway, that he'd get hurt? Well, it'd happened before, this was just a tad more serious. Standing, he brushed off his pants and began walking.

"Gil, don't walk away. Gil." He ignored her, curling his lips together. And as suddenly as he left her, he jumped back a step at the instant appearance of his mother in front of him. "I'm the only person you've got right now, Gil. You're alone. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath in, looking everywhere but her for a few moments.

"You know this is why I went away last time, Mom. You know this is why I never visited, or came to your shows in Venice. You know full well that I didn't choose this job, that it chose me. And now I'm sorry I went away." She smiled, of all times to smile, and she put a hand under his chin.

"Hey, it's all right, sweetie. I've always treated you like my five-year-old Gil who would pick me flowers and paint pictures of bugs for me to take to the gallery. It's time I've gotten over myself and treated you like a man. You've been acting like one since you were eight, and you're into your fifties now. Oh well, better late than never. C'mon, let's take a walk."


	5. Chapter 5: Who's Sara?

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes. 

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note:** Thank you, all of those who have submitted reviews! I really enjoy reading them and receiving support for this. To tell the truth, I was somewhat doubtful of it, but now with the backing of your comments, I feel confident. : ) Thank you again and hope you enjoy this update! Also, this is a very outstretched fan fic, and I'm estimating around 20 chapters, give or take some. So keep on checking to see how much progress I've made.

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"So, this Martin Long suspect, he attacked Greg after Greg said something, Jim pulled him off, he attacked Jim, and then attacked me?" Grissom kept walking, despite the perplexing chain of events that lead to his current state. His mother looked up at him, then down again, obviously saddened by something. "What?"

"You haven't mentioned Sara." His eyebrows crinkled together, confused.

"I don't remember anybody named Sara." His mother stopped, and so did he. "Am I supposed to?" She rattled her head slowly up and down, woefully. Her hands began to wring themselves again. "Mom, who is she? And would you stop wringing your hands. That's how you got carpal tunnel, you know."

"Think back to your first lecture in San Francisco. Remember that girl, the one you told me about that you seriously began to think something was happening?" He thought hard, realization suddenly popping onto his face, then disappearing.

"No, I don't." His mother sighed, even more down trodden at this piece of news.

"So that's what you lost." His ears pinned the sadness in her voice.

"He beat me so badly that I can't remember something I clearly should remember?" Her head nodded, and she began to walk again. '_The woman, that brunette woman I keep seeing, could that be her? No, can't be, I can see her.'_ The beach seemed to be ending, like a cloud mass was cutting off the whole dimension of his subconscious.

"Gil, I can't stay for much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"I can only last so long in your, how'd you describe it, subconscious. Once we walk through the cloud, I'll be gone, but you will stay." He raised an eyebrow toward her, questioning her speech.

"Well, couldn't I just, wake up?"

"No, Gil, you'd have to loose hope and die here. If your hope dies, then you will die." They both fell silent, their separation approaching. Only a few moments away, his mother stopped again and motioned for him to turn to her. "Gil, just remember Sara. If you can remember Sara, then you will make it through, and then the sun will shine. Once you remember Sara, you will wake-up." She embraced her son for the last time and walked toward the cloud.

"But, Mom, can't you just tell me who she is?" Sadly smiling back, she shook her head and whispered back to him, "Goodbye, Gil." Grissom was, once again, alone.


	6. Chapter 6: San Fransisco

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes.

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note:** Enjoy!

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Back to the flowers, back to loneliness, deeper than before. He saw his mother again, and she could hear and speak! But how? How could that happen? His scientific mind just ran in circles, trying to comprehend everything that was happening. Every once and a while, he could swear that he heard a familiar voice talking to him, softly chuckling or felt a small shock in his hands. Once he even thought he heard a baby crying. And that one sound that wouldn't go away; a soft, solid beeping noise kept in beat. Music maybe? No, even Grissom knew it was his controlled heart rate. The coma kept his heart under a soft, steady, slow beat.

One of these endless days, if they could be even called that with the absence of sleep or light and dark, something caught his eye. Walking, he bent down and picked something up. Handling it as if it were evidence in a crime, he studied the object for a moment. It was a picture. A man and a woman, noticeably younger than the man, stood side by side in front of a stone building, as if in a university or city. The scenery was instantly different around him.

The moment he looked up he was in a different place. Holding the picture carefully, he found himself on a stage, facing a crowded auditorium in what seemed to be a college. A man stood in front of him closer to the front of the stage, and even from behind he could tell it was himself. This was the lecture in San Fransisco years ago. Walking up to the front of the stage, he stood on the side, confused, as everything began to move quicker, as if somebody was pressing a fast forward button in the memory. At normal time, finally, everyone was gone, except Grissom, his younger self, and a young brunette woman. Striking him, Grissom realized it was the woman from his dazed memory, and the woman in the picture he held.

"So are we still up for our dinner plans tonight?" The woman spoke, her voice attracting him like a moth to a flame, and he couldn't help but move closer.

"Yes, I believe we are. Now, you picked and showed me around the first time, so tonight it's my turn." His voice sounded...happy. An unusual joy flooding his face as he mischieviously grinned back at the woman. "Eight o'clock?"

"Eight o'clock, Dr. Grissom." Wishing to stay longer, he lingered with his younger self, endulging in the memory. How could this woman not have stayed in his mind? She was radiant, intelligent by the topic he was teaching, she was so much like himself. The fast forward motion happened again and he found himself following him and this woman around all night. Anytime he might have mentioned her name, it was vaugue, muted. But this didn't bother him, because he was reveling in a time in his past he could not remember, but found a woman he could enjoy. As the sun rose, he watched himself pack his hotel room, and wake a slumbering brunette woman from the night before and she began to cry.

In a flash, they were in front of the lecture hall at the college again, the three of them. "Gil, don't do this to me. I've had a really great time and all and I really wish it could've lasted longer. Just don't prolong the inevitable."

"Come back to Las Vegas with me. We've got an opening, and we can still be together, and you'll have a job. Please, I can't do this."

"Gil, I can't! My family is here, my friends, my job. My life is here, Gil. And I'd have to move all that."

"I would for you." She was silent, and he was looking down, face ashen at this encounter. "Please."

"Dr. Grissom! I was told to tell you that your cab is here!" Turning, Grissom watched as another student came up to them. "I very much enjoyed your lectures this week, Dr. Grissom. It was so insightful to have an expert such as yourself giving a week of your time to help us."

"Well, you're welcome David. Thank you, I'll be to the cab in a moment."

"Oh, well, I was also told to tell you that your flight has been moved up, and you'll be late if you don't hurry. Your bags have been loaded into the cab already, too. Hey, how about a picture of you and your star pupil of the week for the school newspaper? C'mon, what would it hurt?!" Obviously faking a grin, his younger self draped an arm around the woman's shoulders in a professional manner and she smiled as well. "Thank you, sir!" As soon as the young man was out of earshot, him and the woman started again.

"I've got plenty of personal days built up. I'll miss this flight and we'll fly back together, as soon as you're ready. Please, don't do this to me. Don't do this to us, what we can have, what we can discover through us."

"Dr. Grissom, you heard David. They said you'll miss your flight if you don't hurry. This way, sir." Brushing past him, the young woman made her way over to a cab, waiting. The pain of realism washed up on his younger self's face, and his own. The woman was in no way coming back to Vegas with him, and she would not let him stay in San Fransisco. At reaching the cab, he blatantly held out a hand. "Miss Sidle, it has been an honor, a pleasure."

Taking the hand, she shook it and bid him farewell. "Likewise."

"I hope we can meet again," he whispered, eyes glistening. He quickly let go of her hand and ran it back through his hair, nodding his head respectively towards her. Stooping into the cab, his memory closed the door, and the cab lurched forward. Hurt eyes gazed back longingly, both from the back window of the cab and the lone woman standing in front of the lecture hall, eyes only pouring icy tears in the middle of summer when all had left her presence. And late into the evening, she stood staring after the cab that would never come back to her. And Grissom stayed with her, but not for long. Rewinding, he watched as all he had witnessed flash before his eyes again before a large white flash ended the rush.

Back in the field of flowers, he stood in the middle of the empty spanse of beauty and could only find beauty in the woman staring back at him in the picture he tightly gripped in his hands. Deathly soft, he ran a finger across the vision of the woman, whispering, "Miss Sidle."


	7. Chapter 7: Just Like Her Daddy

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes.

**Warnings: **none

**Author's Note: **Thank you all again, so much, for the reviews! I don't know how I'd keep posting if it wasn't for reviews. I'm glad you're all liking it so much, and hope you continue to!

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**August 17th, 2008**

**Desert Palms Hospital**

**Room 313 - 2:27 P.M.**

_"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, Griss and Kayla! Happy Birthday to you!"_ Laughs and a couple of cheers rang out in the hospital room, Grissom's body surrounded by his friends, his family. His body was almost completely physically healed, but his mind hadn't been active since he went under. Standing around the bed, the whole team stood in jeans and tank tops and t-shirts around him, a fatherly figure to the younger ones and a brother to the elders. But he was a father, for real. Sitting to Grissom's right was Sara, lovely as ever, holding their one-year-old daughter, Kayla. She was a spitting image of her father; dark curly hair, bright blue eyes, dimples, and the sweetest laugh you ever heard.

"Okay, Kayla, give Daddy a kiss." Kayla smiles up at Sara as she leans her daughter over enough to plant her lips on his. She'd been reading up on what to do with loved ones in comas. Every book she picked up said to talk to them, hold their hand, kiss them, hug them. They'll feel it. Sitting Kayla next to Grissom, the presents began coming. "Here you go, baby, here's something from Aunt Catherine." Handing the bag to Sara, Catherine smiled, watching her co-worker help the young girl pull out a soft baby doll. From the second she saw it, Kayla grasped it tight.

"Guess she likes it. Okay, honey, here's Uncle Nick's present." And for the next half hour they all helped Kayla unwrap her presents. Paper flew everwhere and the decorative bags sat on the side, filled with the presents. Well, besides the doll. Kayla was still grasping it. "Greg, you wanna give Kayla your present?" The young CSI's head picked up, hands twidling the stringy bow attached to the bag he held. Nodding his head, he stepped forward and handed the bag to Sara, who handed it back, standing. "No, Greg, you come sit down here. Kayla hasn't seen you lately." Smiling, she stepped away from the chair and beckoned to Greg. But he didn't budge. Sara nodded, smile fading, and sat back down, Warrick handing the bag back to her from Greg. "Okay, baby, let's see what Uncle Greg got you." It was a soft yellow blanket with words embroidered into the corner.

_Kayla Marie Grissom_

_Date: 8-17-2007 Time: 5:36 A.M._

_Born to: Gilbert and Sara Grissom_

With a small handprint in the same white embroidery, a quote caught Sara's eye. _'Babies touch the world with love...' _She smiled back up at Greg and whispered, "Thank you." He nodded, smiling for the second time in the hospital room.

"I thought he'd like it." Head popping back up, Sara glanced at Greg and back to Grissom. Throwing a smile on, she stood up.

"Does Uncle Jimmy want to hold Kayla for a minute?" The team rarely ever saw a smile out of the stern detective or their supervisor, but whenever Kayla was around that changed. His face instantly lit up in a smile, ignoring the fact that Sara referred Kayla to him as 'Uncle Jimmy'. He was more like a grandfather to her. Taking Kayla from Sara's arms he held the baby girl. Helping to raise his best friend's daughter in his absence, he felt that he had a second chance at parenting, along with the rest of the team.

"Of course Uncle Jimmy will hold Kayla. Won't I, Kay?" Lowering his voice to babble to entertain her, Nick threw on a fake pout.

"I thought I was next to babysit?"

"Oh, Nick, stop acting like a baby yourself. You'll get a turn," Sara called to him. Sara weaved through them and gently held Greg by the arm. "C'mon. Let's go out here for a second." Stepping outside the room, she barely had time to close the door before Greg put his arms around Sara and hugged her. "Greg, calm down! We talked about this befor-"

"I can't do it, Sara! I can't go in there and see Gr- him like that and not feel guilty! It's my fault that you don't have a husband and Kayla doesn't have a father."

"Greg, it wasn't your fault! Don't do this to yourself! The guy was a maniac and is put away for it. It had nothing to do with you. You and Brass were hurt too, Grissom just got the raw end of it."

"But I should have. I should be the one in the hospital bed! I should be the one in a coma! He's married, he's got a daughter, and he's more important than m-"

"Don't even go there, Greg! You know if he wasn't the one in the bed that he'd be blaming himself. He'd be suffering nightmares nightly and would be at your bedside at least daily. He'd be blaming himself that you weren't ready. And the only difference about importance between him and you is that he's a supervisor and an expert in bugs. Seniority, that's all it boils down to. You're just as important as Nick, or Warrick, or Brass, or Catherine. We're all equally important to each other." Their whispered conversation came to an abrubt halt when Sara noticed it was suddenly quiet in the room. Opening the door, she walked inside as they all gazed at Kayla. "What's wrong?"

Figuring something was wrong, she rushed over to her daughter and examined her. She seemed fine, she even had a smile on her face. Everyone else seemed to be anxious though. "I always said she was a smart one, just like her Daddy." Warrick sighed, licking his lips.

"What do you mean, Rick?"

"She said her first word." Sending a questioning glance at Warrick, she took Kayla from Brass's arms.

"What did she say?" Opening his mouth to respond, Kayla answered for him. With an outstretched arm towards Grissom, she yelped gleefully, "Daddy!" Sara's breath caught in her throat. Pausing a moment, eyes growing wide with the surprise, along with the others, she found something to say.

"Y-y-yeah, honey. That's Daddy." Tears were falling or about to fall all around the room, and Greg leaned against the wall in the passageway, about ready to sob. It wasn't Kayla's first word they were all tearing about, it was what happened after she said it. They all heard Grissom's heart flutter.


	8. Chapter 8: Reunited

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes. 

**Warnings: **Language

**Author's Note: **Just for future references, I don't use asterics, or dashes, or any other form of censorship in my writing. I feel very strongly that if you don't write in the full context it's meant to be written in, then the writing just looses its sincerity and meaning. If someone is fuming and passionate about what they're fighting about, then they should be able to express it passionately. So just incase anyone is offended, whenever I put language up at the top, you will find things like dn, a, and most likely the f-bomb. This is the reason I have titled this story as 'T' since I knew I would most likely have language and violence somewhere. If you are uncomfortable with this, I apologize. But anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the others.

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He sat there, not angered, but depressed. Hands covering his face, Grissom shook his head. He'd been trying for what seemed like months to remember anything more, or to make a connection to Miss Sidle from his escapade into his past, a past he couldn't even remember. The flowers around him were still as bright as the very first moment he laid sight on them, and he took that as a good sign. Whether that meant that he was going to live through this, or wake up, or anything else for that matter, he couldn't quite tell. And frankly, he could care less. He would sit on the ground, or pace sometimes, trying to remember someone by the name of Sidle, trying to remember a woman with such a lovely face. He couldn't even remember her and yet he was in love with her.

A sudden breeze blew through the clearing, startling him. Looking all around him, he couldn't quite make out what was causing the wind. The sky was clear and even more disturbing, the flowers or trees weren't swaying with the wind. They stood still. How could he feel something and nothing else move? As suddenly as it came, it ceased, and something tickled the back his ankles. Turning slightly to look over his shoulder, he caught sight of a piece of paper on the ground.

Grissom, with steady hands and hope, leaned at an angle, as not to disturb it, and gently, with only his fingertips, picked up the paper. He stared down at a blank side and cocked his head to the side, reading out loud his own scientific, script handwriting. "_'Reunited - 2000'_ ?" He carefully turned it over and found another picture. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he gingerly reached out to run his finger out over a face, _her_ face.

Grissom felt the change of atmosphere before he saw it, the hot, dry air of Vegas sweeping over him. He stared up into the sun and squinted, trying to figure out what was falling from the roof of the Monaco Hotel. His eyes widened when he realized what it was and ran forward to the edge of yellow crime-scene tape. A body hit the ground, but he looked at it for a moment. It wasn't a body, it was a dummy. Shockingly, Grissom watched two more dummies fly off the roof and land in different positions on the ground.

"Norman pushed. Norman jumped. Norman fell." Grissom looked up, and found himself watching his younger self, older than his appearance in San Francisco, but young nonetheless. Snapping pictures, the younger Grissom stooped and began taking pictures of the dummies when a woman came up to the tape and sat a bag down. Grissom's eyes just moved through the crowd, but traced back to the woman.

"Wouldn't you if you were married to Mrs. Roper?" Her sweet, seductive voice verified it. It was the woman from the college. His younger self stood up straight, and smirked wide.

"I don't even have to turn around. Sara Sidle." Grissom's mouth dropped, but instinctively shut it quickly even though no one could see him. Stepping carefully around the dummies, he made his way closer to the younger him and the woman. Sara. Their conversation continued as they began to speak of a girl who, from the conversation, seemed certain to die. "God Sara, I have so many unanswered 'why's."

At that Grissom watched the scenery change continuously, from little conversations between him and Sara, to just the two of them working together in the lab, and then they were in a truck. His younger self sat on a stool closest to the closed doors of the van. Grissom stood next to himself, looking at the monitors sitting on a ledge attached to the inside of the van. Walking through the monitors was Sara, and he gulped. Vests and jackets with 'FBI' were worn on all of the operatives, besides himself, who wore his blue and white 'FORENSICS' jacket. A man came back around towards Sara, approaching her after a double-take. His younger self gave a nervous glance and warning to the man sitting next to him. The man brushed it off.

They watched intensely until the man reached forward and thrust his hand into her purse. Grissom was bolting before the man even reached for her. He dashed forward, and with his younger self and the agents, bursted into the store, holding the man at gunpoint. Sara stood quietly, breathing faster and heavier than normal. That wasn't, apparently, the man they had set-up Sara to catch. The agents cleared out quickly, but he stayed with Sara.

"He met the profile." He turned to her and sighed, handing the wallet back to Sara.

"Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing." He turned, and so did Sara, and they both walked out of the store. Grissom walked with them, watching them. The anger and concern in his own eyes, and the disappointment and disbelief in Sara's. He noticed his hand flinch, reaching out behind Sara to guide her with his arm on her upper back, but he put it back down without her noticing. "C'mon, the Feds have left already. The Denali's back under the bridge."

They walked silently, down the quiet streets of the suburbs of Vegas. When they made it back to the SUV, Grissom had somehow ended up in the backseat and watched as his younger self opened the passenger side door for her. She glared at him, and got in, closing the door herself as he got into the driver's seat and started the SUV. After a long period of silence, he spoke quietly. "Did you want to get something to eat?" She shook her head, and he nodded.

"Why are you so god damned protective," she hissed, and Grissom, in shock, leaned forward, his head in the space between the two front seats. His younger self turned to look at her in shock as well.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sara?" His voice was stoic, quiet, emotionless.

"Why couldn't you just let me do what the fuck I wanted to do. The Feds needed me."

"They could've gotten you killed."

"I was doing it so that no one else would get killed."

"But the suspect didn't even go there!"

"But he could have, Grissom! Damn it! See, this is what I mean! Why can't you just let go?! I thought I had gotten over you after you left San Francisco. And then you called me up, and once again, asked me to come to Vegas. Now here we are in the same damn situation! Don't you get it? If by bringing me here you just wanted to rekindle something, Grissom, than you are getting nowhere, especially if you're going to keep this fucking game up." By then they had reached Sara's apartment. Neither one of them moved, and he sighed.

"By bringing you to Vegas, all I was doing was looking for a good CSI that didn't have a conflict of interest. News travels, Sara, and you were known as a damn good CSI in San Francisco. That's all I wanted. I've moved on." Sara's eyes were glittering now, and she looked down at her lap.

"I didn't mean anything I said." She slowly opened the door of the Denali and got out, walking to her door. He watched her as she unlocked the door and got in. He sat there for a couple of minutes, just making sure everything would be all right inside, and then he put the SUV into reverse, pulling out of the parking space. Grissom watched himself drive silently through the heart of Las Vegas before submerging into the suburbs again. Pulling into a different development of townhouses, Grissom recognized his own townhouse as he pulled into the parking space in front of it. His younger self turned off the vehicle and sat there, just staring at his door for a long while.

Eventually, he exited the Denali and entered his clean, white-walled, sterile townhouse. It wasn't even a home, just a place to sleep when he ran out of over time. Grissom followed himself and sat down on a chair across from the couch where his younger self sat. He watched himself finally sag, head into his hands and arms braced on his knees. Grissom sat there, and after a long time watched himself lay back on the couch, kick his shoes off, drop his jacket to the ground, and close his eyes. The room began to grown lighter rapidly, and Grissom looked out the window. The sun was rising over Sin City, but when he turned to look back at himself, he stared back at the field of flowers.


End file.
